Saturday, 13 January 2007

So quiet in here


The great invisible palm sweeps through the sky once more, the air coiling and uncoiling in its path. The abrupt, deep drum of another swathe of wind slams against the flat, followed directly by the hiss of raindrops that are scattered across the windows.
This morning I awoke just after 8am, just as the light was coming to a simmer. I looked out the window to find the world in the middle of a great pause. No wind. A sudden abundance of silence, like the hovering top note of a gasp that follows a heavy blow to the stomach. I stood there and realized that I was witnessing the moment in between.
So I lay back down inside the hollow hum of this seemingly divine intermission and waited for whatever might happen next.
What happened next was a slow weave of sound that quickly became a nest of chirps, squawks and want want love you love you.
In the thunderous hopscotch of all of the recent storms, I had forgotten about the birds. They were saying it all – using the lull that they knew wouldn’t last. Damage reports, songs of loss, plans made and broken. An airborne James Joyce stream of consciousness with a TS Eliot punch line have you seen my child the last of the rosehips are blown away my nest is leaking plenty of sticks here free crumbs down at the lake prepare prepare pressure’s dropping hurry up please it’s time…
Where they have all gone, I don’t know. The wind picked up again within an hour and it’s been growing fiercer throughout the afternoon and evening. All day I have been in awe of this display of humble power, of this great use of such a small sliver of silence.
Sweetness. Bliss. The tumble of your language into the earthen bowl of stillness. This feast that never ends.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Ducks and birds tend to migrate far as the setting blue and yellow sun, though in alternative direction. Weep not. We shall be back with the next shift of wind, the next coming storm.

kryce said...

it is never quiet here.
our house is a house of merriment, a house run by children, a house on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Marcheline said...

Chickadee, I love the way you talk.